


Handerello and the Uncharming Prince

by flamewarrior



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Community: hd_remix, Fairy Tales, M/M, Schmoop
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-06-29
Updated: 2011-06-29
Packaged: 2017-10-20 20:29:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,543
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/216802
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flamewarrior/pseuds/flamewarrior
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A Harry Potter take on Cinderella.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Handerello and the Uncharming Prince

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Draco's Dreams](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/3663) by Elfflame. 



> Part of hd_remix 3.0.
> 
> The dream sections might not make sense to non-Brits without reading [this](http://www.its-behind-you.com/cinders.html) first, as they are largely based on the British Pantomime version of the story – especially the characters.

_Handerello is sitting in his cupboard under the stairs. The door is open, and flickering orange light is shining on the wall beside it from the fireplace just outside; it lights up the thin cotton fabric covering his ankles, both of which – fabric and ankles – are stained and smudged with ashes and charcoal smears. His feet are bare. His cupboard is warm from the fire, dark and solitary. He can shut the door any time he wants. He feels safe._

.....

Harry woke slowly from the dream, burrowing under the feather quilt to keep hold of the cozy feeling. He stretched his legs out under the satin, expecting any moment that his toes would encounter Draco's calfs, but he kept on stretching and all he found was more empty bed, colder the further away from himself his feet reached. Harry opened his eyes, hands pushing from underneath the squashed up pillow, to raise a head and shoulders heavy with sleep.

“Kreacher.”

A tight little pop sounded near the foot of the bed. Harry flopped over onto his back and beat his pillow into shape with his hands and the back of his head.

“Master is calling?”

Harry gazed at the blurry grey shape peeking over the bedstead that was Kreacher, his bare eyes able to distinguish only the contrast between Kreacher and the dark wood panelling behind him.

“Good morning, Kreacher. Where is Draco?”

“Mister Malfoy is to be going into the City, Master. He is leaving very early for a meeting with his investment accountant, is what he is telling me to tell you, Master.”

Harry sighed. Saturday morning, and Draco was up and about and seeing to his finances when he could have been warm and cozy in bed with Harry, getting loved up.

 _....._

 _“Oi, ashey arse. Where're my slippers?”_

 _The shout makes itself known from above, followed by the stomping and clomping of boots down the stairs, directly over Handerello's head. Duggly, on standard, irritable form, it would seem. Handerello thinks about shutting the cupboard door and pretending to be asleep, but all Duggly will do is bash on the door, and keep bashing until Handerello comes out, and Handerello could really do without a headache to start off his day._

 _So he shifts onto his knees, crawls out from the cupboard, and stands up on the flagstones of the hallway. Despite the gentle roar of fire from behind him, the stone is cold beneath his bare feet. Duggly reaches the bottom of the staircase and turns around the banister to face Handerello. He is, to use a colloquialism, built like a brick shit house: nearly six feet tall, solid in the hips and broad across the shoulders. His body is topped with a round, flabby, pink face with an upturned nose, framed by a triple chin and thick, straw-blond hair._

 _“Where's breakfast?” asks Duggly, stepping forward to poke Handerello in the chest with his meaty forefinger._

.....

Harry woke again, this time with a start, rolling over and patting the bedside table until he found his glasses. He put them on and sat up, took a deep breath... and caught the delectable scent of bacon. There, at the back of his bedside table, was a tray with a covered dish – how Harry had ever thought ill of Kreacher, in that moment, he had no idea.

  


\--00--

  


_Handerello sighs as he attacks the dried-on egg yolk on Duggly's plate._

 _“Cheer up, 'Andy, it might never 'appen.”_

 _Rubuttons' gruff voice reaches Handerello from the doorway leading onto the stable yard, as the door creaks open. Handerello smiles and looks up from his work as his friend's huge bulk emerges into the scullery._

 _“Oh, hello 'Buttons. I'm just fed up of scrubbing upstairs' muck – which I have to do all the time, so yes, it has already happened._ And _all Aunt Petulantia can talk about is the ball up at the castle in a month's time. How she thinks she's going to make Duggly anything near presentable for his 'coming out' at Court I have no idea, but I do know she's going to blame me when it all ends in disgrace for the House of Du Reslé.” Handerello sighs again. “I wish I could go to the ball. I don't even care about being presented to the Royal Family, or 'coming out', or any of that stupid stuff – I just want to be able to wear some nice clothes and eat some nice food and have some nice conversations with some nice people. No offence.”_

 _Rubuttons smiles behind his beard – Handerello can tell, because the whiskers at the edge of his moustache twitch. “None taken, I'm sure. It was actually the ball I come to talk to ye about...”_

  


\--00--

  


“Where've you been?” Harry demanded as Draco stepped into the hallway.

“And hello to you too.”

Draco smirked as he replied, and paused briefly in removing his silk scarf to give Harry a peck on the cheek.

“Oh, I want a bit more than that.”

“Do you now?” Draco's voice took on the dangerous, silky edge that raised goose bumps all the way up Harry's back.

“Yes.” Harry let a little petulance slip into his voice as he wrapped his hands in the front of Draco's robes. “I got so bored without you to entertain me that I had to have a lie-in _and_ an afternoon nap.”

“I see. Well, I'm pleased to know that five years in my company haven't caused my charms to pall. You'll have difficulty sleeping tonight then, won't you.” Draco crowded up against Harry. “I'll have to see what I can do to stay _up_ and keep you company.”

Harry couldn't keep the act up any longer and bent away from Draco's mouth to laugh against his cheek. Then Draco pressed his crotch against Harry's thigh and the laugh caught in his throat.

“Bed. Now.”

.....

“So, where were you today?” Harry asked (much, much later), stretched out along Draco's side, idly running his fingers back and forth in Draco's pubic hair, thick and soft and downy.

“Didn't Kreacher tell you? He must be getting forgetful in his old age,” Draco mumbled into Harry's hair.

“He told me you were seeing your investment accountant, but who does that on a Saturday morning?”

“Well, I do, obviously.”

Harry sniggered into Draco's neck, imagining the haughty arch of Draco's eyebrow that he was feeling too lazy to raise his head to see.

“But seriously, if that really was where you went, what on earth was so important that it couldn't wait until Monday?”

Draco kissed the top of Harry's head.

“You'll have to wait and see.”

Harry did look up at that, and quirked his eyebrows in question; but Draco kissed him, very thoroughly, and he soon forgot what it was he'd wanted to know.

.....

 _“Buttons, this is so fabulous; thank you!”_

 _“You're welcome, 'Andy. Couldn't have the handsomest lad in Du Reslé Manor missing from the Royal Ball, could we?”_

 _Rubuttons had said he'd had a plan to get Handerello into the Royal Ball, but Handerello had thought he'd meant as a scullery servant, or a table server at best. But here he is, an actual_ guest _! And what's better, is that Duggly hadn't even been invited! Handerello himself won't be presented to the King, nor 'come out' to the Court, but he is_ here _, eating, drinking, talking, dancing... well, he hasn't tried that last one yet, but the couples out on the ballroom floor are so elegant, so precise in their movements, that he hardly dares think of it. He knows his own efforts are bound to lead to nothing but embarrassment._

 _One couple in particular – dressed richly, immaculately, but without being showy – are dancing together, backs perfectly erect, every step in its place, moving like one body: a young man and an older woman. They look so similar that Handerello thinks they must be related; both have white-blond hair and delicate features, and porcelain skin so pale it has an almost translucent quality. They are both beautiful, but the woman has a blank look about her face, as if she were somewhere else entirely. The young man, the young man, though... Handerello is finding it hard to breathe, looking at him._

 _“'Buttons,” he gasps, “who's that man, the blond one, dancing?”_

 _Rubuttons makes a grumbling noise, deep in his chest._

 _“That one? 'E's a bad 'un.”_

 _Handerello carries on looking, and doesn't, can't believe Rubuttons verdict._

.....

Harry woke up with a frown tensing his forehead, a clench of anxiety in his chest, but when he opened his eyes, there was Draco's white blond hair, his pale skin glowing in the faint fairy light they kept above the bed. He buried his nose in the soft strands and breathed deep, and before his second breath, he was asleep again.

.....

 _As it turns out, Rubuttons is right. His dancing partner is rude, obnoxious, a snob and a crashing bore to boot, who talks about nothing but himself – can't stop talking, in fact. Not that Handerello himself has anything to say; he's too busy trying to catch his breath and untie his tongue after the gorgeous blond vision asks him to dance, near the end of the evening – right, that is, up until the point when the man spots Rubuttons over Handerello's shoulder and compares him unfavourably to a warthog, while in the same breath questioning his mother's fidelity to her husband. Then, Handerello lets loose every single swear word in his vocabulary, and a few more that he makes up on the spot._

 _He is stomping so hard as he leaves that he loses one of his shoes as he storms out of the castle._

 _Now, Handerello is back in his cupboard under the stairs._

 _“Oi, ashey arse. Where're my slippers?”_

 _Duggly's shout makes itself known from above, followed by the stomping and clomping of boots down the stairs, directly over Handerello's head._

  


\--00--

  


Harry woke to one of Draco's feet insinuating itself between his calfs, and a hand pushing at his lower back.

“Come on, Harry, open up.”

Draco's voice was sleep-slurred and indistinct, and his mouth breathed a warm, wet patch onto Harry's neck. Harry complied, shifting his legs apart and allowing his hips to be pressed against Draco's. Draco's cock was already hard, pushing against the seam of Harry's groin, and Harry's was rapidly following suit. Draco's lips and teeth were pushing and pressing and biting their sloppy way from Harry's neck to his mouth.

The kiss, when it came, was sweet, and hot, and full of morning breath, and Harry loved it.

.....

After, when they were lying on their backs, side by side, sticky and sated, Harry remembered the dreams he'd been having

“I dreamed about you.”

Draco turned his face to Harry and waggled his eyebrows.

“Oh, really?”

Harry huffed out a laugh and batted at Draco's shoulder.

“Actually, it wasn't very complimentary. You were a Prince and I was a scullery servant who got to go the ball and dance with you, but you were a complete dick, so I stormed out.”

Draco grinned at him and turned onto his side, elbow resting on the pillow and head cocked against his hand, poking Harry's chest with the forefinger of his other hand to punctuate his words.

“Well, I did used to be a complete dick, if you recall, and you did used to have a terrible temper.”

Harry grabbed hold of Draco's finger, grinning back.

“I suppose that's true enough.”

“And we've both improved immeasurably since then.” Draco dropped a sloppy kiss on Harry's mouth before he could reply, and got out of bed, taking the covers with him. “Now, time to get up. You had a criminally lazy day yesterday, and we have places to go.”

Harry, who had lifted himself partly off the bed to grab back the covers, flopped back down again.

“It's a Sunday, Draco: what places do we have to go to?”

“That's 'to what places do we have to go', and it's a surprise. Honestly, Harry, anyone would think you were American the way you massacre English grammar.”

Harry rolled his eyes, got up out of bed, and followed Draco into the bathroom.

.....

The surprise, as it turned out, was lunch at Wizarding London's most exclusive, not to say most expensive, dining establishment. Harry was suitably impressed: the waiting list for tables was over six months, and that was if you weren't the son of a Death Eater, or coming as a gay couple, let alone both. Harry had known they'd be going somewhere fancy when Draco had insisted on picking out his clothes for him, and had chosen his most formal, personally tailored robes, but this? This was way beyond anything Harry had expected.

“How long have you been planning this?” Harry asked as he and Draco were shown to their table by the maître d'.

“Oh, a while.”

Harry noted that while Draco's tone was airy, he didn't bring his eyes up to meet Harry's as he spoke, and there was the faintest hint of pink expanding its way up his neck. Harry smiled to himself. Draco had never shown the slightest inclination to romance before, and Harry was very satisfied with their relationship, but it was very nice to be wined and dined, and as a surprise at that.

Draco was the perfect gentleman throughout their meal: choosing the wine, but letting Harry make his own selection from the food menu, with only the gentlest hint as to what dishes might suit his taste the best; flirting gently with Harry while the waiter took their order, and chuckling with him afterwards at how the poor man had clearly been trying to cruise them both; providing an endless supply of conversation topics – not that that was ever a problem for Draco. In short, Harry had a wonderful time.

But finally, as coffee arrived, Draco's flow of conversation seemed to dry up, and he spent a good minute apparently fascinated with his coffee spoon.

“Draco, what's up?”

Draco dropped the spoon to the floor and his fingers fluttered together as he visibly fought to regain his composure. He reached into his robe pocket and pulled out a roll of parchment, complete with the Malfoy seal in peacock blue wax. Draco cleared his throat.

“Harry.”

Draco's tone was serious and he swallowed before continuing. Harry sat up straight. What was this?

“Harry, we've had five fabulous years together. I know I was reluctant to be with you at first, but I hope you know how quickly that changed?”

Draco gave Harry a searching look, and seemed so uncertain that Harry nodded to show his agreement. Draco let out a small breath.

“Good, good. I... Well, that is...”

Harry hadn't seen Draco so uncertain since... he quickly brought his mind back to the present, to the beautiful man in front of him. He laid his hand on Draco's, which were still holding the parchment between them.

“It's alright, Draco. Take a breath.”

Draco closed his eyes and did as Harry said.

“Okay, okay.” He opened his eyes and looked straight into Harry's. Whatever he saw there seemed to reassure him, steady him, and his voice as he spoke now was low and smooth. “Harry, I love you. If you were a woman, I'd be asking you to marry me, but we both know that's not possible under Wizarding law.” Harry gasped. This – this wasn't what he'd been expecting at all. “Even if we got a Muggle civil partnership, our ties wouldn't be recognised in our own world. But I want to do the closest I can manage.” Draco swallowed again, visibly, took one hand off the parchment and turned Harry's hand over, gripping his fingers. Harry gripped back, feeling a tight, painful ball of emotion forming in his throat. “Harry James Potter, with this parchment I endow you with all my worldly goods. I want to be with you forever, Harry. What do you say?”

Harry gaped at him, completely at a loss for words. Then he felt a smile spreading across his face, so wide that he had a mad thought that his jaw might break off from his skull. He stood up, grabbed hold of Draco's head – fingers splayed across his ears – and kissed him. The kiss went on, and on, Draco's hands warm and strong on Harry's upper arms, until Harry became aware of the disgruntled murmurings from nearby tables. Screw them, thought Harry, and carried on kissing.

When they finally broke apart, Harry sat back down, and gently took the parchment from Draco's hand. Draco's face was a very fetching shade of pink, his lips and his eyes shining. He grinned back at Harry and let out a laugh.

“Shall I take that as a yes?”

Harry giggled, he honest to goodness giggled as he replied, “I think you'd better. Now, let's pay this poor waiter and get out of here.”

  


\--00--

  


_Handerello has just finished sweeping the scullery, the kitchen, the hall and the staircase, and is bent over on his hands and knees, dustpan and brush in his hands, when a commotion erupts above him. There is a lot of squeaking from Aunt Petulantia, and a lot of huffing and puffing from Duggly and his father, the Baron, and that's all the sense Handerello can make of it, until a trumpet sounds and someone with a very loud voice proclaims:_

 _“His Royal Highness, Prince Dareko Luciano Abraxan Phineo de Malfus, seeks an audience with the young men of this house!”_

 _What on earth the Prince would want with Duggly, Handerello has no idea; nor does he want to speculate. He simply applies himself to his task, carefully brushing the dust and dirt into the dustpan, and transferring it to the grate of the fireplace in the kitchen._

 _Whatever the Prince wants with Duggly, Handerello thinks, as footsteps and angry voices crash down the stairs towards him, he's not getting it. The voices get nearer and Handerello can make out what they're saying._

 _“Where is he?” demands a male voice, high with emotion._

 _“Where is who, Your Highness?” asks Aunt Petulantia, sounding genuinely confused._

 _“The other young man of the house, of course!” Now the male voice has a harsh edge to it._

 _“Oh, Your Highness, the only other young man in this house is – well, you wouldn't want to meet_ him _. He's little better than a servant.”_

 _They must be nearly at the bottom of the staircase now, as the male voice sounds quite clear, and not a little bitter._

 _“I have recently had it firmly demonstrated to me that the quality of a person cannot be judged by their social position or their means of livelihood. Now, if you would please bring me to this other young man?”_

 _“Of course, Your Highness.”_

 _The footsteps are echoing on stone now, and Handerello knows they are in the hallway where his own cupboard is._

 _“Handerello! Handerello! Come here at once!”_

 _Well, thinks Handerello, if the Prince wants to meet me, I'd better go. He looks down at his thin cotton clothes, covered in dust and soot smuts, and wonders what the Prince will think, but still makes his way from the kitchen out into the hallway to meet whatever, whoever awaits him there._

 _“You?!”_

 _Handerello forgets his manners completely in his shock. Before him stands Prince Malfus, if the proclamation is to be believed, who is none other than the beautiful, utterly unmannerly young man who had danced with him at the ball. But, wonder of wonders, the Prince does not berate him for not bowing, nor for his outburst now, nor for his foul language at the ball, but steps forward to Handerello and goes down on his knees in the position of a supplicant. Behind him, Handerello sees Aunt Petulantia raise a hand to her aghast face. Behind her stand two footmen, with equally unbelieving looks._

 _“Your name is Handerello?” the Prince asks, but goes on without waiting for an answer. “I come to you with a most sincere apology. Your rebuke to me at the ball was well-deserved, and I have thought long and hard on your words. I have ever let my mouth run away with me, all the more so when faced with beauty such as yours, when my desire to impress overruns my faculties of reason and restraint. I did your friend – for so I deduced Rubuttons to be – a great disservice, and in that did myself a greater one, in driving you away. Can you forgive me?”_

 _Handerello looks down on the blond-haired, porcelain-skinned, sincere young man before him, and cannot hold onto his grudge. He gets down on his own knees in front of the Prince._

 _“You really wanted to impress me?”_

 _The Prince blushes._

 _“Well, yes. You are gorgeous, you know.”_

 _Handerello and the Prince kneel on the floor together, in the hallway by the kitchen of Du Reslé Manor, grinning at one another fit to split their faces._

.....

Harry shifted in his sleep, a small smile lifting the corners of his lips. He wrapped himself even closer around Draco, who responded in kind, and they slept on together, in happy dreams.

  


  


\--00--

  


  


  


The End.

  



End file.
